Interludes
by eringi
Summary: Based on the "ficlet in 15 minutes" concept, various short stories involving our favorite
1. Disclaimer

**Title:** NEWSIES Interludes  
  
**Pairing:** Various. Some stories have no pairings.  
  
**Rating:** PG-13 at most  
  
**Notes:** Based on the "ficlet in 15 minutes" concept, various short stories involving our favorite Newsboys. SLASH is included but never graphic, and not present in every story. Many of the plots revolve around Bumlets.  
  
**Disclaimer: **Disney owns Newsies and all of the characters herein. I own an overactive mind that can't concentrate on one thing for too long. I lose both ways. 


	2. 01 Devotion

**Devotion.**

**

* * *

**  
The most important decision in his life had been to run. Run far away from the confines of reality, from life as he knew existed. From a mostly-comfortable if not totally desirable existence as a boy among boys, as an orphan stranded in an asylum with hundreds from the same brew.  
  
It had not been difficult, getting away, and no one had gone out in search after him when he had left. It was as if he had existed only in the second-hand accounts, as if no one really remembered him. He was not important enough to worry one 


	3. 02 Pause

**Pause.**

**

* * *

** The worlds of make-believe and reality were rubbed together for a moment in the sun. It had been hot all afternoon and the heat was finally getting to the lithe young man. The warmth of the sun was sucked into the void that was his perfectly black hair, causing a fit of dizziness. Normally flawless white skin was tanning as this time there were no shadows to hide behind.  
  
Days like this made Bumlets wish for the winter.  
  
He was blinking, a rare moment in time where everything seemed to pass by him so slowly. Some sort of dream in which his senses were heightened to abnormal magnification. The smells, sounds, and sights around him danced as if though painted in the purest of oils.  
  
A mother and child sat in their squalor across the way from where Bumlets was selling, the perfect Victorian image of da Vinci's Madona Litta. Next to him, frozen in time, were two of his fellows. Each with one arm raised, newspaper brandished, they were valiant alter egos of St. George, slaying their dragons.  
  
It was days like this where God really appeared to be real, where Bumlets felt the power of the Lord alive in his veins. Days like this when he knew that angels spoke to him. Life might have dealt him a hand that he would have not expected, but in the moments where he felt everything, those graceful pauses, he could feel assured that life was worth living.  
  
A mental image of the moment locked in his mind, Bumlets blinked and set the world back into motion.  
  
"Nothing is as far away as one minute ago." 


	4. 03 Gate

**Gate.**

* * *

Snow had fallen quickly and in a manner thin enough that it would be melted off by supper-time. Still, it was a pretty sight and for someone not quite accustomed to the cold, it was a temporary chill. Lined against outside of the half-block of wrought-iron fence were several young miscreants, and they were smoking in a circle.  
  
Tobacco always tasted better with the cool wind and bite of frost in the air. The warm breath of smoke seemed to fill the insides, starting with the lungs and settling (even if only fictionally) in the stomach.

"Ain't nothin' doin."  
  
There were five in total, all ranging in the ages of seventeen to eighteen. Once they could no longer prove being children, the business of selling papers became nearly impossible. No one wanted to buy from a bum when there were streets lined with cute little ones desperate to scrape up money for a simple meal.  
  
"Well, I'll tell you what. You get a job there, you put in a good word for me."

"Yeah, then they fire me? No way!"  
  
On the inside of the fence was a church. It wasn't the kind manned with a flock of nuns, nor the kind with spectacularly high ceilings. Though it definitely could not be mistaken for anything other than a catholic church, the congregation was rather small and only three priests held up the responsibilities of its operation.  
  
"You getta red suit if you join 


	5. 04 Evasive

Evasive.  
  
The marks of sleep still fresh on his cheek, Pie Eater stretched and jumped off from the top bunk he called his own. Morning had come with the usual sharp cries of old Kloppman. "Get up!" was worse than any bell, yet the subtle gentleness behind the man's harsh exterior made getting up a little easier.  
  
Itching a spider bike on the back of his neck, the young brown-haired boy made a great yawn, mouth opening so widely that the skin around his mouth and cheeks burned. The morning felt a lack of elasticity in the body, and every bump and tick of the body was much more intense in the moments of waking.  
  
Heading into one of the empty toilet stalls, Pie Eater made a face at the smell and opened his woolen shorts. Someone had been there, and it'd been fresh, but he couldn't help that. From the next stall came a soft, annoyed groan. "Mush, can't you wait 'til the rest of us are gone or somethin'?"  
  
"What?" a voice from nearby the sinks questioned incredulously.  
  
It made Pie Eater smile, really. He was one of the quieter ones, but still he felt that he was liked among the group and had some sphere of influence over them. "Like you can talk, Blink," he spoke up, moving his hips forward with a little shake before pulling his trousers up again and heading out of the stall again.  
  
He was immediately replaced by another boy, and in turn took a spot at one of the pumps. He wanted to wash his hands and face. There was no time for a bath, and even if there had been, it was Tuesday. Sunday was bath day.  
  
Next to him, a boy of likewise proportions was washing his face blindly, eyes shut tight with the threat of getting sap in the eyes. He held a towel under his arm, and face was twisted into a grimace as he splashed water over the soap, causing the excess to cascade down into the basin below.  
  
"Hey Pie Eater." Though the boy's eyes were still closed, he was obviously used to something that allowed him to know exactly who stood next to him. Bringing the towel up to dry his face and rub the water out of his eyes, Bumlets finally had the chance to peek. "You got a sellin' partner for today?"  
  
Black hair reflecting blue off of the sunlight brought in through a set of windows, Bumlets' hair was a straight mass of silk. When Bumlets passed the towel over for Pie Eater to use, the brown-haired newsboy was numbed. Heart quickened just slightly as he watched Bumlets' nicely shaped lips curve upwards into a hopeful smile.  
  
Having to cough to dry his throat to break his stare, Pie Eater swallowed. "Yeah. I do. Sorry." He could never let on the feelings that his best friend was stirring as of late. It wouldn't be proper.


End file.
